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That Same 
Old Lover 

By Stanley Warde Abbott 


Done into a Booklet by The 
Roycrofters at their Shop, in 
East Aurora, New York, mcmix 


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Copyright, 1909 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


Two Co Dies Received 

iUN 24 mUH 




DEDICATION 

For the Dear People who believe that 

To be married is good 
To stay married is better. 

These verses were written by Stanley Warde 
Abbott and made into a. printed book by 
The Roycrofters, at their Shop, which is in 
East Aurora, Erie County, New York, U. S. A. 



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That Same Old Lover 
































That Same Old Lover 

HERE ’S nothing but peace on the 
hills tonight, 

Peace and a soft wind blowing : 
There’s nothing but peace in my 
home tonight, 

Peace and the firelight glowing. 

’T is sweet to grow old when the heart keeps 
young. 

And with age but grows more tender. 

And a woman’s soul is a better thing 
For all that the years may lend her. 

And blessed is she, if in looking back, 

’T is her happy lot to discover 
That comfort and hope she would always find 
In the eyes of one faithful lover. 












































WAS a rosy-cheeked lassie of 
twelve, 

He was a few years older, 

I was as shy as a little brown wren. 
He was a trifle bolder. 

A stranger, I came to the village school, 

They gave me no cordial greeting. 

But down by the brook he waited for me. 
Somewhat constrained was our meeting. 
The only bridge was a slippery log; 

But he kindly helped me over. 

And glancing up I encountered a smile 
In the eyes of my boyish lover. 




ICKNESS and poverty came to 
our home. 

Where all had been health and 
plenty, 

And the family burdens fell upon 
me 

An untried maiden of twenty. 

But out of my toil and out of my pain 
And out of my love-shared sorrow. 

There grew the sufficient strength for the day. 
And for many a sad tomorrow. 

And oh, what a solace it was to me then. 
When death seemed ’round us to hover. 
That my tear-dimmed eyes never sought in vain 
The eyes of my manly lover. 






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MALL was the house where I 
dwelt as a bride, 

Small, but with love overflowing, 
A lilac bush bloomed in the tiny 
yard. 

And often I sat there sewing. 

Fashioning garments of daintiest white, 

Too small but for love to measure. 
Garments of mystery, prayerfully wrought. 
To enfold an unpriced treasure. 

And I knew, as I sat by the lilac bush. 

On my throne of blossoming clover. 

Queen of our little realm was I 
In the eyes of my wedded lover. 




3477«1S3* 
Lot 74 

I 



ND our children came, and our 
children went, 

Each one our fond hearts 
winning. 

But after awhile we were all alone. 
As wetwere in the beginning. 

Tonight as I sit by the open fire. 

And dream above my knitting, 

A white-haired man on the opposite side 
Of the glowing grate is sitting. 

And when, now and then, I glance from my 
work 

I ’m almost sure to discover 
A pair of eyes looking straight in my own. 
The eyes of that same old lover. 






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So here then endeth the poem, THAT SAME OLD 
LOVER, as written by Stanley Warde Abbott, and done 
into a booklet by The Roycrofters, East Aurora, New York 


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